


Turn the Page

by thebrightestbird



Series: Generous Souls [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightestbird/pseuds/thebrightestbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re face to face, on the verge of expanding their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn the Page

Bucky flops onto his right side to look at his alarm clock. The glowing numbers read 3:33. He sighs, makes a wish, and gets out of bed.

His face is clammy from sweat, but the house's AC is working just fine. It was another nightmare. Business as usual.

He wanders into the hallway bathroom to wash his face. When Bucky moved into Steve’s Brooklyn brownstone, he had his pick of bedrooms with personal bathrooms. But those were upstairs, and one of the rooms was Steve’s. Bucky already felt like such a bother ( _a danger_ ) that he wanted Steve to at least have the space upstairs undisturbed by him. So Bucky took the ground-floor guest room. He’s strangely comforted by the fact that if something big and bad comes busting through the front door, he’d be the one hit first and not Steve.

And if Bucky’s being really honest, he likes being in the spot where he can make the quickest escape. Leave a note, grab a bag, quietly close the front door. Never look back.

Steve knows all of Bucky’s reasons for choosing that room. He doesn’t question or pressure Bucky to reveal the neuroses and fear that keeps him in it. (“You want the guest room?” “Yeah.” “You’re gonna have to pump the hall bathroom's toilet handle some to get it to flush right.” “I think I’ll survive such a hardship.” Thus ended the epic discussion about Bucky’s choice of room.)

Steve knows and doesn’t question, but he worries. He’s also a super soldier with freaky keen hearing, so every time Bucky gets up in the middle of the night, inevitably, Steve will trot downstairs to check on him.

Like now. Bucky shuts off the sink faucet, looks up at his mirror, and sees the door frame behind him filled with broad muscle.

“Your hair’s too long.”

Huh. Those aren’t the usual words to come out of Steve’s mouth on nights like these. Usually, he says, “Are you okay? Should I make cocoa?” or “Let’s watch ESPN Classic and be grateful we missed out on the extremely short basketball pants of the ’70s.” You know, normal remedies for nightmares. This hairstyle suggestion is new.

“What do you mean too long?” Bucky asks after turning around.

“It’s way past your chin. You’ve got to be inhaling it when you sleep. Soon, you’ll be coughing up hairballs like Thor.”

The image of a cat-like Thor coughing up hairballs gets a laugh out of Bucky that surprises himself. Steve smirks in return.

“You dumbass,” Bucky says. “I forgot how weird you can be.” He starts to calm his laughing. “Are you serious about my hair though?”

Steve moves out of the doorframe and reaches a hand to finger a strand of Bucky’s hair. He gives it a few loose twirls, then tucks it behind Bucky’s ear. “Must tickle,” he says, barely a whisper. His hand lingers near the side of Bucky’s face, almost cupping it without actually touching.

“I don’t tickle.” Bucky’s felt more pain than anyone should ever experience. Delicate sensations such as tickles stopped registering a long time ago. And why are they talking about nonsense like his hair and tickles at oh-God-o’clock at night?

The looming, the touches, the easy concern. It’s all been happening a lot more lately. Almost a year has passed since Bucky’s memories returned, and although things between he and Steve will never be like they were before they died, they’ve managed to repair and rebuild the important stuff. Steve’s attempt at humor tonight is an example. They’re laughing again. Their life together, their story, can continue. Bucky’s chest swells in a frightening way.

Love is frightening.

Bucky raises his hand to Steve’s golden head. “And what about you? Whose idea was it to get rid of the swoop of hair you’ve been sporting since you were 12?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He bows his head a bit to let Bucky kind of pet him. He cards through the blond strands; they're not too short, and Steve’s probably due for a trim if he wants to maintain the modern style. Meanwhile, Steve’s hand has finally found a place to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

They start inching a bit closer to each other. “Your hair was always falling into your eyes back then,” Bucky says. “I was constantly fighting the urge to brush it back into place.”

Steve hums in response, his eyes closed. Bucky feels guilty for waking him. He really must be tired. “You did once,” Steve murmurs.

Oh, yeah. He did, didn’t he? A night similar to this one, a lifetime ago in their one-bedroom apartment. There weren’t a lot of choices to be made in that place. (“Steve, I’ll let you pick which side of the bed to take.” “Gee, thanks, Buck. You’re a real generous soul.” “You’re damn right I am.”)

The roles were reversed (he and Steve seem to be two sides of the same coin, always flipping). Steve was sick again and tried to sneak out of the bed to get to the sink basin without waking Bucky. Steve managed to reach it and cool his face with some water, but when he turned back, Bucky was right there to help him back to bed.

“Buck, you don’t gotta take care of me.”

“Gotta’s got nothin’ to do with it. We’re pals. We take care of each other.” Bucky reached out and smoothed the fallen hair back on Steve’s head. Sure, he’d just mess it up again in bed, but Bucky just needed to give Steve that simple sense of composure for at least a small moment. “I wanna take care of you, Steve.”

Bucky is shaken out of the memory by Steve brushing back another stray lock of his hair. He looks in Steve’s eyes and says the lines he’s meant to say, the same words said to him decades ago. “You don’t have to take care of me, Steve.”

“I want to, Buck.” They’re face to face, on the verge of expanding their story. “We’re partners. We take care of each other.” And with no more words in their script, Steve places his mouth on Bucky’s.

The swell in Bucky’s chest changes; its burn is no longer frightening. The kiss is a balm. But love is still frightening, because it is a risk. Luckily, when it works, it is the best healer.

Steve starts brushing his lips over Bucky’s face, from the lips he just kissed to the bridge of his nose, across his cheek to behind his ear. His breath … tickles. Maybe not all delicate sensations are lost to Bucky.

“Come upstairs with me,” Steve says in his ear. A few hours ago, those words would have been more of a question, allowing Bucky to have a choice. At this moment, though, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of choices left. If Bucky’s really honest with himself, there’s only one smart choice to be made.

“You’re a generous soul, Steve.”

-|-

In stories like this one, Bucky should be waking up in the afterglow of a night spent with a new lover. A damn chorus of angels should be heralding this turn of events in his life. Instead, he’s startled awake by the sounds of hacking. He flops over in Steve’s arms to find him red-faced and coughing.

“Bucky …” Steve starts, then just coughs some more. An “oh, God” does manage to wheeze out though.

Bucky’s completely confused about what could be causing this fit and doesn’t know what else to do but wait it out with Steve. Once he finally calms down, Steve avoids trying to talk. Instead, he reaches out and tugs Bucky’s hair. Some strands are a bit wet.

The dots finally connect for Bucky. “Well, shit. I guess I really do need a haircut.”


End file.
